


The Immortal Life of Anthony Edward Stark

by CinnamonrollStark



Category: Iron Man (Comics), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Daddy Issues, F/M, Family, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Future, Gen, Immortal Tony Stark, Immortality, Kid Tony Stark, Love, M/M, Marvel Universe, Multi, Past Abuse, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Canon Fix-It, Rebirth, Time Travel, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Daddy Issues, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2020-06-03 18:32:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19469722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnamonrollStark/pseuds/CinnamonrollStark
Summary: Tony Stark lived fifty-three long, sometimes painful years. We all know the story.And yet, when that life comes to an end, Tony finds himself born once again in May, 1970.As he grows up for a second time, with all memories of his past life intact, Tony has to decide whether to sacrifice the life he built in order to fix the mistakes he once made, or make them once more to get his old life back, knowing where it will lead.





	1. Seek Comfort and Rest

**Author's Note:**

> I really really really hope yall will like this as it goes along. It took me three days haha and I usually write in like 2 hours. Maybe that's me being a lazy writer or whatever, but man oh man, it took a while. It's also kinda heavy, so let me go ahead and state a Trigger Warning/Content warning, as there are brief discussions of sex- not in graphic detail. Rape, including child molestation, which was an icky subject to deal with and hard for me as I've never experienced such, and I tend to write from personal experience. Theres also several motions of death and thoughts of suicide. This is definitely a darker one, but I hope it comes across respectful and true to life. Thank you for reading!

Five months into the year 1970, an infant took his first, rushed breaths. Having had few practice in the act, he wailed in its unfamiliarity. He longed for the warmth he'd only recently departed, and searched longingly for that same comfort his entire life.

There was no spectacular story to his birth; unlike most other events in his life it went over quite easily, assisted by a team of nurses who were the first to hold his writhing, slippery body. The world was far too bright for his young eyes, and he could not concentrate on the faces around him. Perhaps that did not matter, as hardly anyone remembers their birth or the moments after, but in that time, relationships were defined; whereas the mother, Maria, held out her arms in longing to touch and hold her son, the father, Howard, stood in the corner of the room, uncomfortable with the mess and chaos of it all. When offered the chance to hold him, be briefly partook, only to hand him back to Maria only seconds later.

This was the standard of care for Tony Stark through his childhood years was rather simple and bland; a mother who was loving and strong, bound to a growing evil that made its home inside of her husband. A father who was quick to violence and quicker to drink. A nanny, Lucinda, who was quiet and reserved but quite sweet. Obediah, Howard's best friend who acted as some unrelated uncle, a watchful eye in Tony's life, a strong hand that was often too rough and cruel intentions feeding on him like a parasite. Jarvis, one of the only people Tony felt he could confide in as he grew up, the household butler.

Tony wasn't sure when he first noticed his father's abuse, although once he discovered it, he could not seem to see anything else in the man but a violent drunk. He was terribly young to bear the weight of such horrid actions.

At four years old, Tony heard his parents fighting through the walls of their adjoining bedroom. Their words came through muffled across the plaster, but Tony knew what they were saying to eachother was less than kind. It wasn't uncommon to hear them fighting, and he had mostly adapted to the echoing shouts that kept him up at night. 

He shut his eyes tightly and waited for it to stop, clutching a stuffed elephant against the frantic beat of his young heart.

When he was sure the fighting had run its course, Tony let out a sigh of relief, hugging himself tightly in his bedcovers, only to jump at the jarring crash of shattering glass on the other side of the wall. Curious and fearful, the pint-sized boy rolled out of bed and made his way to the door, first peering out through the keyhole before slowly pulling it open. 

He didn't bother to knock at his parents door; if someone was hurt, he was needed. Weeks ago, Tony had tripped over the threshold of his bedroom door, skinning the front of his knee. Maria had rushed to him to ensure his safety, hurried and careful to tend to the raw skin. It had only been a minor thing, but she was his protector, had vowed to pick him up regardless of the severity of his falls. 

Twisting the doorknob, rushing to the aid of his mother, Tony made that same vow to protect her at all costs. Four years old, far from understanding the darkness of the situation, he flung the door open to reveal his father pinning his mother against the wall.

Blood dripped down her cheek and to the carpeted floor from a gash across her cheekbone. Broken glass decorating her shoes, droplets of some liquid, probably alcohol, raining down the wall behind her. Howard was quite close to her, hands clamping Maria's wrists behind her head.

"I said I'm sorry, okay? I apologized. I'm not going to do it again."

Maria flinched around his pungent breath. "Okay," she agreed, nodding as more blood seeped down her soft skin, "I forgive you, I forgive you."

Which, in truth, she didn't, but some things had to be said, some lies were necessary to protect those she cared about. Her eyes fell upon him then, her cowering boy in the doorway. "Howard." 

She nodded towards the child, and her husband followed, letting her go when he found the young thing staring at them, confused. "Tony? What are you doing in here?"

The boy ignored him and looked to his mother. "You're bleeding."

Maria shook her head and wiped the gash with the back of her hand, smearing blood across her pores. "No, sweetie, I'm fine."

She'd tucked him in, that night, after Howard had passed out on the couch, whiskey on his breath. She's smiled, but the mask covering her pain was crooked, revealing cracks and bruises across her skin. 

This was the way of life. This was the way of things, concealing hurt and worry but not well enough to hide the scars from to those close up. The cycle of abuse continued far beyond Maria, although it was from her that Tony learned to cope with it. He was six, the first time his father struck him and bloodied his lip. He was eight the first time Obediah cornered him at night and asked to wrestle. He was ten, the first time Howard made him get drunk.

From the outside, the Stark family was rather perfect: a successful, powerful, kind father, a beautiful, supportive mother, and a son, highly intelligent, bound to inherit Stark Industries when the time came. From the outside, the house was beautiful. The love was there. Perhaps their masks could not conceal their pain from eachother, but they certainly fooled the public. 

But in truth, they were rotting from the inside out, falling apart and falling away. As with anything, what the public eye was aware of was far from reality. As Tony emerged into adolescence, he began to notice just how wrong everyone outside they're broken snowglobe of a life was about what went on within those walls. It sickened him, to see magazines and television features covering the magnificence of his father, as well as that of Obediah. Oftentimes he was tempted to anonymously report that one was a drunk who beat his wife and child, and the other was a child molester, but no one would ever want to accept that. At least, this is what his developing mind could not quite yet comprehend. 

Tony longed to get away, and spent most of his time devoting his life to school and the advancement of his career. Above all, he cared deeply for invention and creation. He liked the idea of making a new world, or at the very least, developing the start of such. Anything to get him out and away from that house, those walls, and the things that happened beyond closed doors that haunted him. 

He took great pleasure in robotics. At fifteen he created his first A.I. in his father's workshop- much to the man's displeasure. Regardless of his father's obvious disappointment, Tony was quite proud of his creation. It malfunctioned frequently, and could not do much but grasp small objects, and the boy lovingly dubbed the A.I. Dum-E. 

Tony took the robot with him to MIT, essentially his first friend at college before crossing paths with James Rhodes- which Stark decided was "too formal" and to whom from then on out called Rhodey, who became the first person Tony ever really got to call a friend and companion. 

Desperate to separate from the confines of what his family life had taught him, Tony never intended to develop a drinking problem himself. He was young- although, legally old enough to drink at that point and time- and had a bright future ahead of him, which he discarded along with the empty bottles of beer in his dorm room. Now, many couldve argued it was only normal, college-driven alcohol consumption, but this issue seeped over into his life far beyond the years of his time at MIT.

At twenty-one, Tony got the call. We all get a call, at some point in our lives, and one could only hope they'd be ready by the time that it comes around. Tony was not ready, could not possibly have been. Nine days before christmas, the last remaining Stark stood before the grand windows of a house that felt far too large, a vacation home turned nightmare in a place he felt quite lost, staring out at the falling snow in the courtyard. 

One christmas, when Tony was around nine or ten, he'd tripped and fallen while playing in the snow. No one was around, and for the time being he'd been grateful. To his amazement, the thick blanket of snow beneath him offered no pain, and yet, no comfort. It was somewhere in the miserable inbetween, a subtle numbness that called to him. Skin sore from beatings and heart weary from Obediah's visits in the night, Tony savored this nothingness, as he wasn't granted it often. The boy, so young but so old, lay in the snow for nearly an hour, after peeling off his coat to feel the cold more clearly. Jarvis had been the one to find him, nearly frostbitten. Obviously concerned, Jarvis had asked the boy why he hadn't come inside, or st the very least called for help. Tony had ommitted, without hesitation, that he just simply had not been in the mood to feel anything.

The day his parents died, that numbness came to him without snow and cold, a spectacular suppression of emotion leaving him with frost in his veins. He didn't bother to contact anyone, aside from Jarvis, who had been the one to make the call, himself. The natural human instinct when it came to surrounding others in greiving was to comfort. Comfort always elicited old wounds, and Tony did not want to feel.

Numbness is often improved with alcohol, and so Tony eventually fell further into the bottle. It wasn't until a concerned Rhodey had learned via news outlets that the Stark parents were dead, and appeared on the doorstep of Tony's freshly inherited house. 

One look at his best friend melted the ice around him. That night, he confided in the man about the family's dark history; how he mourned for his mother, but that his feelings around his dad were so terribly confusing, how he felt more so, disappointed that the man was gone than heartbroken. How he knew that Obediah would likely be the one to take over Stark Industries until he was ready- which he wasn't, quite yet- and what that would mean. How he couldn't stop drinking, because he just flat out didn't want to deal with his grief.

With Tony's regretful permission, Rhodey had smashed all the bottles of liquor in the house, even Howard's. He even let Tony do some of the bottle smashing, which in truth was actually very satisfying.

And Tony let himself cry, which he didn't do often. To show vulnerability to others, especially to other men, had always been a sign of weakness in the Stark household. Tony couldn't count the amount of times he'd been punched, slapped, screamed at, for innocent tears. Pain, pulling forth more tears, calling for more pain. It felt strange to be held as he cried, as he hadn't been since he was a very young child. The physical act of weeping was quite painful, like an empty retching, and a pounding headache, but the comfort it brought on was deliriously wonderful. Even when Tony ran out of actual tears, he continued through the motions of sobbing, just to be held a little tighter, for just a bit longer.

Tony didn't give up searching for comfort. That had been his unconscious goal his hole life, from the moment his father rejected him and the world grew cold with foreign air. Whether it was in the arms of a man or a woman, Tony craved touch, embraces, encouragement. He'd been starved of it all for so long. 

Intimacy scared him, so he surrounded himself with it even more than the average man. Perhaps if it were a part of his daily life, it would not cause such panic in him. The only intimate acts he's participated in as a teen- and regretfully as a child- he had not been a willing part of. Maybe part of him still felt like that child, submitting to his partners wishes. After all, he'd never been in control, not in his entire life. Taking the reigns now would have been so daunting.

Unfortunately, Stark's tendencies to be so intimate with so many people ended up delivering him into a bachelor lifestyle that he never really wanted. He wanted to get close to someone- anyone who was willing- chasing the feeling he felt that night with Rhodey. It didn't have to be sexual; that night hadn't been. It just had to be something. He just wanted one person to listen, to hold him once again. But reputation made its mark across the tabloids, and caused any long term commitments to scatter.

It wasn't what he wanted, sure, but it was what he'd been dealt. After a while, it began to feel normal, never really having an emotional relationship with anybody. If someone just wanted to use him for the sake of using him, that was okay. It certainly would not have been the first time. Yet, in those intimate moments with strangers, he tried to soak every bit of touch, every embrace, every firmly planted kiss, through the pores of his skin. Tony fell in love with every person he ever slept with, but pushed every single person away as fast as he could so they couldn't break his heart in the long run.

Years passed and Tony eventually stepped up to run Stark Industries, unsure of himself but far better fit to run the company than a child molester. The workload was quite much for him, especially at the young age that he was. As smart as he was, running every aspect of the company was daunting, and he ended up making a good lot of mistakes. Usually, such mistakes fixed themselves- at least, this is how he saw it, from the upper levels of the company. Obviously, someone else was behind this, and it wasn't until Stark made a tremendous financial mistake that he was introduced to this very person. 

"Do you have any idea what you just did?"

A fit, young woman, strawberry blonde. Cute. Tony's brows furrowed. "And you are?"

"How much this is going to cost you? And me? This could literally cost me my job, do you understand that?"

Tony sat, dumbfounded, at his desk, light from the vast windows pouring in around him. Had this woman just let herself into his office? More importantly, who okayed that- especially when she was this angry.

To most she would've seemed cute, but irate at the moment, in Tony's eyes made her hot. Still, his finger hovered over the security button on his desk phone. "Oh, that's unfortunate." He pressed the button gently. "Send me an email about it."

The women's greyblue eyes widened, her tight jaw clenched. "Are you fucking kidding me? An email? You just totally fucked over your own company. You totally fucked it over, and if you don't let me fix it- like I've been fixing all your little accounting errors for the past three years-"

The doors behind her swung open. The woman turned furiously, hands on her hips. Two security officers reached out to grab her by the forearms, but she backed away from them steadily, confident. "No," she said, looking back to Tony.

"Nope. You can't have them escort me- hey!" The woman yanked herself away from the arms of an officer. "Don't touch me! You're not taking me anywhere! I have- I have Pepper Spray!"

One hand darting into the inner pocket of her pantsuit jacket. "I have Pepper spray, and I swear to God I'll spray you if you touch me again."

Tony couldn't help but laugh. She was feisty, interesting- plus, she had valuable information about the company that he actually wanted to hear. And she definitely didn't have Pepper spray. He knew how to call a bluff- he'd been lying for enough of his life to know what was a cover and what wasn't. 

"No need for that. Let her go."

The security officer looked up at him, confused. "You sure?"

"I'm sure."

He waited for them to leave before smiling at the woman. "Alrighty then. You don't have any Pepper spray."

She clenched a nonexistant object in her jacket. "Yes I do."

"No," said Tony. "You don't. But apparently you know how to save the company. Mind filling me in on that?"

She let out a huff of air. "Fine." She agreed through gritted teeth.

"Now, what should I call you?"

The woman brushed her hair out of her eyes, still frustrated, but incredibly beautiful. "My name's Virginia. Virginia Potts."

Tony nodded, taking a pen and writing down the name on the back of his palm. He shook his head. "You don't really look like a Virginia. I took a trip there, once, with my dad. Doesn't suit you."

Virginia shrugged. "I don't know what you want me to say to that."

Tony tapped the pen on the blurry ink on his skin. "Can you go by Pepper?"

She almost rolled her eyes. "Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously."

"I wasn't bluffing."

"Yes you were."

And she was. That day, after an in-depth talking to about finances and how they work and what not to do when taking care of them, Tony decided that not only did he need an assistant, but that miss Potts was the exact person for the job. She was a bit taken aback that after creating a scene he would even want her, but obviously accepted.

From that moment on, Virginia Potts was known by any and all by Pepper, which Tony found absolutely hilarious. "It's a term of endearment." he would reassure her. At least, to him it was. Because as days rolled on and Pepper worked her magic, fixing his messes and calming his storm, Tony couldn't help but fall for her. She was everything he wasn't, in all the best ways. 

That was why he refused to let her fall for him. Not that she would in the first place, but that he would be everything she didn't need, everything she didn't want. It's not that he didn't want her to care for him, to fix him like she fixed his work. It's that he didn't want to give her that burden. He was a mess, a tornado. He didn't want his storm to pick her up and throw her off course.

But he had his moments. Moments where it killed him not to reach out, to graze his thumb across her cheek. To kiss her. The way soft light reflected off her irises and almost turned them green made his heart flutter. Still, he couldn't do that to her. Even if she did reciprocate any of his feelings, it was best not to mess up her life as he messed up his own.

The random hookups continued. Women, men, anyone. He just wanted to fill that gap, that hole in his life that trauma had created. The emptiness festered when left for too long, so he catered to it as often as he could.

Some reporter. He couldn't quite place her name, but Tony had seen her around before. Blonde hair, cropped around her shoulders. To be completely honest, she sort of had a resting bitch face, like a constant state of perpetual anger. But she was lean, smooth. Tan. And she was particularly good in bed. She was the last one before it happened.

As she did with all of them, Pepper escorted the reporter out of the house that morning- the blessing that she was. Tony tried not to notice the way Pepper's face got on those mornings, a mix between hurt and embarrassment. He pretended he didn't know why.

Tony kissed her on the cheek before he left that day. Nothing terribly uncommon. It was meant to be one like any other. But on the plane, as he sat across from Rhodey, fumes from the jet sinking into the fabric of his suit, Tony could still see her reddish hair, curls hanging in the wind as she waved him away.

So he did what he always did: got drunk and enjoyed the company of scantily clad women. Rhodey certainly didn't seem to mind.

Just a standard weapons demonstration. That was all it was meant to be. But fate had other ideas. Places and times that had to be exactly right, shrapnel sent to the exact places necessary for his story to play out as it did.

□□□

You know the story.

Everybody knows that story. 

For fifteen years, there was one and only iron man. Love that was found and people that impacted him in ways that he couldn't imagine.

Comfort that came to him. Children, biological, and some that just became a part of his life. He couldn't complain. For Tony Stark's whole life, he'd searched for something to fill that void in his chest.

Life had not been wasted.

Even when Tony's thumb met his middle finger, some fifteen years after that day fate had in store for him, that utterance of identity- his one last cheap trick and cheesy one liner- Tony knew that everything leading up to this had been a reason.

Even when he watched his wife, his Pepper, hold back her tears and tell him it was okay to go, that he could rest, he knew that all was as it was meant to be.

Everybody knows that story.

What they do not know is what happened after.

How, as the orange glow of light was shrouded by smoke, as his family- his Rhodey, his Peter, his Pepper- wept for him, and Tony's presence drifted on, it did not go far.

Stark said a silent prayer as the world fell away beneath him.

Five months in to the year 1970, a baby was born once more to Maria and Howard Stark. Tony looked around at the world around him, too bright, and stared silently at the overhead lights while nurses wiped him clean with soft towels, wondering if he was now in heaven, and why heaven smelled like the inside of a fish tank.

Five months in to the year 1970, Tony Stark was born again.


	2. Burdens of a Second Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Born once more, Tony Stark has to relearn the simplicities of daily life, and navigate the world of childhood with the overbearing confusion that follows every glimpse he has into his old life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy. It's been a while! So, not that yall would be too interested to know, but I've officially moved to Los Angeles! Well, technically, it's on the cusp of Culver City, but my address is technically in LA.  
> So some thoughts so far: people are SO SWEET HERE! I mean, I still get catcalled, and there are still some creepy harassy people (mostly on metros or in train stations- talking to you, butt-grabber in union station and boob-oggler in the Westfield mall) but almost everyone is sooo kind and like, everyone here came here with a dream. I'm so excited to make mine come true!

The life of an infant passes by in a flurry; despite the differences, now, it is no different for Tony. From newborn to age four, he is not so much aware as he is observant. He watches behind eyes as he is fed, burped, changed, wrapped in blankets and rocked to sleep. Although he has once lived a full life, and most memories have been left solid and whole, his youngest years are spent in blurry obedience, and no significant ability to change the course of every simple activity.

As before, Howard is far from a friend, and often spends his days in his study. Maria is quiet but loving, trying her best to make up for the affection that is not present on her husband's end. She plays the role of mother and father all at once, stern, but caring, stable, but full-hearted. Tony longs for her voice, a soothing, lilting sort of song, and mourns for it when she goes away. There is a depth, to the grief, far beyond what a young child should comprehend, a knowledge all the while unknown, a familiarity to loss however shallow it may be. When she returns, gone only to wash her hands, to change her clothes, to use the restroom, or even to rest, a joy unbound by lack of comprehension floods through him; she is back, his mother is back, and there is hardly a chance that he will lose her again.

And yet, he loses her again. Again and again and again. Because, this is the normal way of things. Children cannot be observed at all hours of the day, and Maria does not have so many to spare. The feeling, however, the torn, obliterated soul that comes with her absence, does not match the time with which she allots for solitude. This is the bereavement that comes with total loss- death- and of that Tony has yet to come in contact with. At least, on a human level.

There are times, when Howard tanks them away to some foreign destination, perhaps to a party or an exhibition, a new trinket of his father's on display, that Tony sees an animal flattened on the road, a squirrel or a groundhog, uncomfortably deflated, a spray of blood against the asphalt. As they pass, Tony will watch it until it falls out of view, a tiny corpse on the side of the road. But death, in that aspect, does not touch him so deeply as the memories of such. 

Everything is in the current tense, as futures are, the past behind him and in him and in front of him all at once. He doesn't recognize this for a good long time, yet it is sunken in him, a place that he doesn't entirely recognize, too far to reach but close enough to the surface that his mind can graze it with tremendous focus. Sometimes, when Maria is near, he will feel a ghost of her, some past version of her body doing something different, posing in a different way. It's like double vision, the two sets of lifetimes overlapping. In this life he watches her smile one moment, in her husband's company, and two steps to the left she flinches away from his touch. It's a curious thing, to watch a life he has seen once before unfold, now, again, and almost entirely the same.

In his dreams, Tony stands tall, not terribly so, but a longer man than he is now. Flashes of memories built in to the deepest part of him reveal themselves in a confusing glimpse into the past. The smell of sweat, of engine oil and hot metal, of skin, of blood, of smoke. A name, a food, but still a name: Pepper. A name, a child: Peter. A name, an emotion: Happy. The names came in cluster, one after the other. Rhodey, Morgan, Cap, Banner, Steve, Thor. Cap and Steve could go together; there was a tinge of bitterness to the name, a sharp pain in the ribs. In the back. In the heart. Familiar, too, in the fact that Captain Steve Roger's was a noted war hero, and Howard went on and on about their meetings whenever the opportunity was granted. Thor was easier to place a finger on- he was a myth, after all. That was the trigger for Tony's search into the world of his dreams, of his memories. 

At age two, Tony was already reading. To anyone else, this may have seemed normal, albiet, perhaps a bit odd, had it been a child's book. Instead, after practically begging his mother to take him to the public library, a young, gibberish persuasion, Tony ventured into the section devoted to mythology, and picked up every book he could on Thor. Thor, the god of thunder. His mischievous brother, Loki- this too, rang a bell. If Tony had been any older, his interests wouldn't be so curious, but his in-depth and comprehensive readings of religious texts, mythology books, and even historical fiction devoted to the gods of thunder and mischief, was one others couldn't quite understand, and lead to a lot of suspicion about the child. 

Some found him quite intelligent, and others found him odd. Tony, frankly, didn't give a shit. The world lacked a sophistication with which he'd become accustomed, and he was not about to waste a fragile minute worrying about what others had to say. He had a job to do, and had absolutely no idea what it was yet. Tony was driven. Confused, and kind of a constant garbage tornado, but a driven garbage tornado. 

With plenty of research devoted to Thor, he still alloted time to browse photo collections and old newspaper reports on Steve Rogers. Still quite young, Tony didn't understand what the feeling was yet, but he did recognize a certain annoyed attraction to the man; handsome, almost more than necessary. This was close- but not all the way the same- to the feeling that spread through him when dreams of Pepper came to him. Of course, handsomeness and attraction should've been foreign to a child, and although he did not feel these emotions to their best ability, he could place what it was, a knowledge not frequently dealt to children. All this said, Tony never gave these feelings the time of day, as they were unimportant. In fact, Tony was nearly three, and only had about fifty-one years to get his head out of his ass. There was so much to discover, so much of himself that he did not know of yet, and such precious time could not be given to man thirty years dead and another who, for all scientific discovery and religious idealizations could prove, did not actually exist, or at least, not yet. There were big things to do, and so little time to complete them.

Tony spends most of his time piecing together memories. Pepper was a woman, a woman he loved more than he can comprehend at such a young age. A wife, maybe. At the very least, a lover. That word.sat uncomfortably on his tounge, as if it didn't belong there- which, in all fairness, definitely didn't. Peter was his son, of that he was sure. To be three, and to have the knowledge that he was, all at the same time, a father, was confusing. After all, Tony still did a lot of childish things, as it would be hard not to. Of course, he could walk, run, play. But he did spend most of his time hugging stuffed animals or listening to stories his mother read him. But yes, Tony was a father, and not just to Peter. Morgan, a young girl. Mayne five. Older than Tony is now. Thor and Cap/Steve were friends. That was all he'd peirced together this far.

Yet, it was all incredibly confusing, because he couldn't be entirely certain what was real and what was imaginary. If he were to tell his father that he once lived a life in which he was friends with a human spider and a green giant, Howard would be livid, and tell him he was talking nonsense. This, he remembered, took a need to hide his artistic side in any way possible. The dance lessons Maria took him to, some forty years or so ago now, ballet. They'd kept that a secret, then, too. And Tony had been good. He remembered that, at least. But when Howard discovered the lessons, he immediately demanded that he trade the knowledge for something more traditionally masculine. Maybe that was a good thing; in the long run, Howard's pursuit of vicarious living through his son inexplicably lead to Tony's interest in mechanics and engineering. But Tony would never give him credit, as Howard could never deserve it.

At age four, Tony starts noticing the bruises on Maria's arms. She tucks him in for bed, each night, and Tony usually let's her go, straight away. Although he craves bedtime stories, he let's her slip out, too much on her mind to read simplistic books to her son. He can't blame her. But tonight, something is entirely off. 

Maria runs her fingers through her son's hair, a kiss of a smile on her lips. "You want a story tonight, baby?" She asks, gently, exhaustedly. Marks of blue, brown, purple, and yellow peek out from under the sleeve of her nightgown. Tony focuses on them as she pulls away a bit, the weight of her body weighing down the side of the bed. Small arms reach out, grabbing at her elbow, pulling her back in. Maria shifts.

"What are these?" He asks, thumb hooking under the sleeve, pulling it up to reveal the bruises. "Do they hurt?"

Maria gently removes his hand from her bicep and smiles, sadly. "I'm fine, honey. Just fell, yesterday."

Tony's brows furrow. "I didn't see you fall."

She swallows. "It was after you were asleep."

The furrowed brows turn to a scowl. Tony knows this is a lie, and feels betrayed. "I didn't sleep last night. And I didn't hear it."

Although Tony is her first and only child, Maria is hesitant to assume his level of independence and resistance to her order, her word, is normal. Still, she's all the more concern by his admittance of insomnia.

"Why aren't you sleeping, Tony?"

He shrugs, sits up a bit in bed. His mother runs a hand over his dark brown curls. "Are you sick."

Tony shakes his head. He wants to tell her all of it, the insanity of it all; memories of a life well lived, and tragically and heroically ended. But how could she believe him when he hardly believes himself. So he goes with it.

"I think so."

Maria's expression tightens, and she feels his forehead for warmth. "You don't feel hot." 

Tony shrugs again. She is suspicious, as is Tony. They both lie to eachother, confident in their untruths as naturally as they would be were they honest. The bruises disappear under the sheer sleeve. A breathe loosens the tension in the room. 

"I can take you to the doctor tomorrow."

"I'm fine."

Maria chews on the inside of her cheek, debating. "Are you sure?"

As Tony lays back, the soft touch of cotton sheets against his skin holding him with the weight of gravity and of fear, he knows that neither of them will ever admit to the burdens they carry. The child's hand within his mothers, he laces his fingers between hers, and squeezes.

"I'm sure."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots more to come soon, I promise. Tell me your thoughts!


	3. From the Inside Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony struggles with the memories of his old life, and encounters past demons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: TW for graphic depictions of child molestation and self harm.
> 
> Full disclosure, this is a very dark chapter. There are some really horrific things that have happened and will happen to fic!Tony, because that's how it goes for thos story. But if you do not want to read the chapter due to certain scenes within it, I can summarize it in the end notes. But sadly, this is a very real thing that happens to people- and in no way am I glorifying what will happen. I simply am combining my past (lesser, and much less horrific) experiences with assault, and knowledge passed down by friends and family of their experiences. 
> 
> But! I just want to point out that the whole story will not be this way; more so, I hope to make the eventual outcome inspiring, a reason to stick around and find beauty in a life that constantly betrays you. If you or anyone is experiencing assault, please reach out to any local hotline, or to a trusted friend or family member. Love you all! I hope you like how it's coming along. I'm doing my best here so please dont hate on it.

Sleep, as it has many times in the past, evades him. The memories are becoming more in depth as he grows, and frequent in their visits. Many of them, a jolt in his rest, a hypnic jerk that tells him that this panic will never fail to find him, regardless of time and place. A sudden feeling of falling, during sleep, is common to most. But Tony has concrete memories of falling-

_Falling, falling, the darkness closing in around him, threatening to swallow and digest him amongst the stars._

_And then he lands. A crash of metal, and a flurry of dust. His eyes flutter open, and there he sits, all blonde hair and blue eyes. Captain Rogers. "We won."_

_Then, interspersed with a later recollection: "We won, Mr. Stark. You did it, Sir, you did it. I'm sorry."_

_A thought, deep inside, unable to slip past his lips: why are you sorry?_

_The weight of a fragile hand on his chest, the smell of her skin, her shampoo, of dirt and grime and blood, charred skin. The feeling of weightlessness._

_"Tony, Tony look at me. It's okay. We'll be okay."_

_Greif, stripping him raw. Not for him, but for her, for them._

_"You can rest now."_

And once more, Tony wakes up, carvings of pain and loss etched deeper than bone. He coughs, his chest rattling in confusion and fear and smoke, so much smoke. But it is all within him; one quick glance around the room proves he is alone, and the air is clean. He is not dead. He is not dead. He has to grip his skin and claw at it to prove he is not dreaming. What is more terrifying than to be living within a nightmare, is realizing that the nightmare lives in him. A sob rips from his throat, silent. Tony's been told enough times that boys should not cry. He doesn't need reassurance, his mother's arms. He needs to get his head on straight, to make the apparitions of the past dissapear. He is alive in the here and now. He simply had a bad dream. That is all.

Then, like an echo of some distant childhood: _"Fuck you, you fucking whore."_

A glass crashes behind Tony's bedroom wall. He is thrown from the bed in a fit of his own terror, an internal stream of thought reminding him that this is not the first time he's heard them fighting. Anger boils in his chest. This was meant to cease long ago, and he will not take a moment more of the chaos.

As if propelled by fire, by metal and pure strength, four-year-old Tony blasts through his own bedroom door, immediately turning and crashing through the next, and in to his parents bedroom.

 _Glass. Split cheek. Blood. Broken. Anger_. Tony remembers this, too.

"Let her go, you fucking _drunk_ ," 

Even this suprised him, as a child his age would hardly use this kind of language, or even charge at his father in such a way.

Howard releases Maria's wrists and takes a step back, shocked. He reeks of alcohol, as far away as he is. He teeters towards Tony, lumbering arms swaying as he walks. "What did you just say to me?" He roars, clambering towards the child, and taking him under the arms. In one fluid motion, Tony is ripped from the floor and slammed against the wall. Maria shouts something illegible. His father's breath his hot and fowl against his skin.

"You think you can talk to me like that, you little prick?"

Freed from Howard's grasp, Tony's mother rushes forward, and begins to beat upon the man's back, in an effort to release her son. "God, Howard!" She screamed, pounding her fists against his back. "Let him go, he's just a little boy." Her anger turns to weeping, but rage continues to fill her body, arms flailing against Howard's muscles body. "Let him go," she sobs. "Just let him go."

Howard flinches, finally, under her touch, and loosens his hold on Tony, whose small body drops to the floor. He's hurt, but not terribly. Yet, something in him is less than scared, every ounce of fear drained from him. For now, he is invincible. 

The father falls back, and drops to his knees. Almost immediately, he begins to cry, and Tony feels a bit of sympathy, a guttural hurt in seeing his father broken down. But now is not the time for sorrow, and Howard deserves any pain or sadness he is experiencing now, drunk or otherwise. 

Maria stands strong, shaking, but stable, her husband's fingernails having left half-inch wounds across her wrist. Her cheek is bloodied, a shard of glass still peircing the skin. "It's okay Tony," she says, more for her own sake than his. "We're okay. We'll be okay."

◇◇◇◇◇◇

The child leans forward and breathes hot steam against the glass, tracing words with his fingers in the fog.

Maria looks up at him, as the roll over a speed bump, and his finger leaves a long tail in the steam, the leg of the letter 'R' swirling up to the top of the window.

"Who's Pepper?" She asks, tone calm and practiced. 

Tony shrugs, and watches as trees and overlong grass wave them goodbyes from side of the interstate. "I don't know," he admits, concentrating on the name, its color, its buoyancy in life. "Yet."

And she takes that as it is. Stars are glorious in the night sky, a field of light guiding their way. Maria swallows, watching the headlights scrape asphalt, a yellow hue overtaking the grey in the nighttime. 

"Are you scared?" Asks Tony, indifferent.

"You know," she says, blood still seeping from her cheek. "For the first time in a while, I'm not scared at all."

And as luck would have it, neither was Tony. A whole world lay ahead of them, safe or broken tied only by love and the strife for affection. They could live in motels together, away from Howard's grasp, a smaller, dimmer life than what shiny trinkets lay ahead in the Stark household, days that pass in a flurry, and slowly at the same time, some good, some bad, and some beautiful. It could resemble a good life. And maybe it was only a futile attempt, terminal trauma that would follow them wherever they went. But for the moment, they were okay. They were together, and in that they were strong

◇◇◇◇◇◇

Of course, these formative years had to dissapear behind them, the passage of time blurred and wiped away like bugs on a windshield. Where it was not spent, was an average motel, a place bound in love but broken in spirit. The life of luxury, the world he had known for more than a lifetime, was not banished away. They were given an offer: Obediah Stane would house them for as long as necessary. Never having known anything else, they agreed, and moved in within the next 12 hours.

In life, there are justices and injustices, and more often than not, the everyday person experiences the latter. The sickness that drove Stane to manipulate the child and strip him naked, a rotting of the brain and a putrid evil in the soul, one of the greater injustices. From the age of six to fifteen, Obadiah Stane repeatedly assaulted the child. Perhaps this was why the memories ceased, at least the time being. Growing into the man he once was was put on pause. The only thing that repeatedly drilled into Tony's mind was the ceiling fan, spinning, spinning, over Obediah's shoulder. He would watch it rise and fall, rise and fall with the forced movemts, and for that moment he could forget the pain, the strain on his skin, the smell of body odor, the scratch of leather underneath him. 

Until Obediah would finish, and put away from him, leaving Tony's prepubescent body to sink and rise from the couch, rapid breaths and numb panic causing his heartbeat to rise to the surface of his chest. He would wait till he heard the basement door closed before he would run to the bathroom to clean himself up, flinching under his own touch, bruises of handprints against the sides of his thighs and buttocks. Obediah's hands, temporary tattoos that the man left for both of them to see, shared shame caused by Obediah's actions. 

Some days Maria would see the purple imprint of Obediah's fingers stained on Tony's back, his spine, his hip, and watch him slip away once more. "Honey," she'd say, as he stretched off the couch, his shirt riding up around his ribcage. "Pull your shirt down."

This time, Tony noticed, Maria was in a grey area of knowledge, a suspicion and nothing more, but enough to solidify in her mind that it could be happening. But she never said anything- and somehow, in her silence, she was a worse person than Howard. He'd never seen it before. 

But these actions became less and less frequent, and finally, as Tony reared into adolescence, and later teenaged years came into view, he became less of Obediah's preference. He was no longer in that window, Obe had explained. He was too old now. Not his type. Which, as much as it brought him relief in the knowledge that Obe could no longer touch him, or in the absolute very less often, he could, it also brought him a feeling of betrayal, of a shameful regret, that he could no longer please the only person that cared about him. It was in that, he felt, that he was entirely worthless. 

Obediah eventually demanded that he sign up with the Big Brother program so that Tony would have easy access to young children- who he would send to the basement. Tony refused. 

This moment is frozen in time for him, now, just a few seconds behind. Before he can control it, Tony's muscles clench, tension sinking deep into the thready meat, a systemic progression of responses, a grimace. It's out of sight, already spreading through his skin, the expression instant catching a wary eye.

"Tony," Obe swallows, leaving in close to the teen's frame. "You like having a bed, don't you? A roof over your head?" He smiles, curled and disgusting, a shriveled attempt at warmth. "Or what about your mother? You like her being safe, right?" He chuckles and pulls away. "Sign up."

So this brings them to the night, Obediah sleeping in the master bedroom, far at the end of the hall. In the dark, framed by moonlight spilling into the room via window, Tony stands, watching. There are a million things he could do right now, a million reasons to do them. The potential for damage, intertwined into the potential for failure. And if Tony could only gather the strength the kill him now, having grabbed the shotgun from the shelf. To aim it at his head and watch the pink, grey matter splatter against the headboard. Then he'd aim it again, at the dick, and shot him once more. Or maybe, in reverse order, just to feel peace as Obediah is restrained in pain, dickless and shriveled against the bed. Then, he'd blast his brains out, not to save him from misery, but simply to enjoy that sound, the thick thunk of bullet in meat.

But Tony has no strength to save himself. He's wasted so long trying to survive the pain, the terror, so he could drown out the noise, blank and dark and warm. In that he could prove he was a warrior, he was a fighter, he was doing his part. So much potential to fight, to remain in the spaces in between, never used. Because, in truth, Tony would've rather died that continue to feel Obe's sticky skin against his once more, so in those ugly, uncomfortably warm moments he would die, a silent breath against the dark. He would be okay, in those fiew and far between glimpses to the underworld.

So he is exhausted, he is sickened, he is tired. Obe snores. Tony sobs, arms clutched across his chest, hugging himself because no one else will. Tears gather in his eyelashes, under his eyes, over his cheeks. No, this isn't fair. It never could have been. But he resolves to change this, to be something different, because he simply cannot commit to leading others to this place, the sweaty skin, the darkness and death, on a couch in the basement. A pig to the slaughter. No longer. Tony has become the slaughter, and Obe has always been the pig. He could not kill the swine, could not blow his brains out for his own pleasure- but he could destroy him all the same. He could rise, and take over Stark Industries, if only just to watch Obe bleed down below. But for now, he simply stands watch above the bed, every muscle in his body aching to obliterate the sleeping man, to rip him to shreds. Just imagining it will have to do, for now.

◇◇◇◇◇◇

Tony has a few weeks to come up with a plan, at least, before Obadiah suspects anything. Although he and his mother have drifted apart, mostly on account of her lack of action, her witness to the horror that befell Tony each day, they must stick together in order to escape the monster's claws. 

Tony's bedroom is almost as luxurious as Obe's; a king-size bed, decorated with a bit too many throw pillows, framed posters- AC/DC, mostly, lining the walls, robes and towels and pajamas on one side of his closet, suits, ties, and dressy clothes on the other. Tony should be living the life of a royal, but due to the horrible men in his life, he is permanently crippled in spirit, broken from the inside out. Maybe he's a royal, but he's a miserable one. 

Tony lays sideways across the duvet, and sighs, body sinking into the down, feathersoft embrace of it's fabric. The room smells of cigarettes, as he's picked up a rather nasty habit as of late. Two fingers against the comforter, a stick of tabacco and cancer dangling between the knuckles, singing the blanket below. A swirl of smoke drifts upward, sucked into the dizzying turns of the ceiling fan. Maria sits on the floor, donned in a silk robe, leaning against the side of the bed. They are a modern portrait of the fleeting calm in the chaos, broken glass against frozen water, something ugly disguised as magnificent. 

"What if we just left," proposes Tony, taking a drag of the cig. "Just ran out while he was sleeping. Take only a couple things with us." He sits up, looks at her. "We would never have to see him again."

Maria doesn't pretend not to know why; she's never really hidden her suspicion, but has also never brought it up with him. She looks up weakly, face slack with an age that does not become her. 

"We don't have any money, Tony." A statement underwhelming against the backdrop of the Stane mansion. "We'd have to come back. We'll always have to."

The cigarette finds the soft point opposite his elbow, and the embers of red at its tip sizzle and fry a perfect circle in his skin. When Tony pulls the thing away, after a long moment of waiting, the burnt circle smiles up at him, pain poking holes in the numbness of his heart. 

"We could live in the car. Frankly," he says, frustrated now, "We could live in a box on the street. I don't give a shit. I can't give a shit, and you know why."

To Tony's suprise, his eyes are burning, and it isn't because of the smoke. The hurt, betrayal, the brokenness rises up in him and lodges itself in his throat, a ball he has to swallow around. It makes his next words come out contorted, cylindrical. 

"You know. You've known. How can you do this every day and sleep at night?" 

Tears slip down the slope of his cheeks, his nose. Yet, he isn't embarrassed. Howard's old reminders of masculinity- boys dont cry- cannot touch him any longer. He's owning the tears. He's owning the hurt. His father can rob him of emotion no longer. He wants Maria to see it- to see what she's done. But she just sits there. Expressionless. Not an ounce of regret in sight. 

Something in Tony switches. The sorrow turns to rage. "Get out of my room." He commands sitting up further, now, stronger. "Get the _fuck_ out of my room."

And she abides. Her slow gait to the door is out of age, not pity nor sadness. She doesn't feel anything, not really, he realizes. And she likely didn't in their prior life. When she closes the door behind her, a mournful sob rips from Tony's chest, and he collapses against the blankets, face crumpled and chest sunken inwardly as he weeps. This is not simply greif for the woman she is now, but for the woman she once was in his mind. Kind. Loving. Someone that actually understood him. But she is none of that, and never was.

He cries. Time passes over him like rushing water, and he does not keep track of the waves. It is not until the tears stop coming, and he is only shaking with empty sobs that it comes to an end. 

The ceiling fan again, waving him on, paddles hitting the air and circling above him. Like birds, like clouds in the sky. He wonders why he is so drawn to it, the slats of tan against white stucco walls. Until, for a stilled moment, it reminds him of something.

_Blue. Light. Bright and full in his chest. A swell of pride at his work, and thankfulness for the man that helped him. Yinsen. Yinsen._

Tony pauses, a world of darkness, of smoke, the smell of oil and machinery, and let's the words sink in through his pores:

_"Don't waste your life, Stark. Don't waste it."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those that wanted to skip: I understand, and am not offended. Do what you need to do for your mental health.  
> This chapter covers the years between four and fifteen for Tony. On the upside, Tony and Maria escape Howard's abusive clutches- only to be driven straight into Obe's. This, of course, leads to nine years of abuse on Obe's end, and Tony's memories from his past life are pushed away due to trauma. But once he is fifteen, he is no longer Obe's 'type' and the older man demands he sign up for the big brother program to lure younger kids in for Obe to steal away.  
> Obviously refusing, Tony suggests to his mother that they abandon the luxury life and flee Obediah's capture, but she denies the opportunity, and Tony discovers that she's known about the abuse for years. Disgusted, he sends her away, and after a breakdown, the memories once again resurface.


	4. Swallowed By the Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As more memories solidify, Tony takes a risk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope yall enjoyed the last chapter!!! So many more to come, now. Today I had sucky food poisoning (and a couple health issues making me panic, but theres a chance its nothing) so I kind of wrote out some of my feelings and feel a bit better now. Hope you guys like this one!

For years, the memories hit him in fleeting images, soundbites that dissapear as fast as they come. This, in itself, has taken a good bit of adjustment on on Tony's end. To decipher, and furthermore accept the implications of living a second life, that Tony Stark is now the reincarnation of his former self, has been a challenge. But now that he is old enough to face it head on, the memories are constant now; most days, he gains a part of his old self every hour. 

Death is the most gratifying thing to have knowledge of; Obe would die, and Tony would be the one to kill him. Sitting at the dinner table for family meals, he would glance at the man and smirk, knowing that all those nights on the couch had amounted to a horrifying, fitting end, lit up by lightning, by power itself. How silly he'd look, contorted by electricity. It was thrilling to know, and thrilling to relive. Of course, Tony did ponder if his enjoyment of this could make him a pyschopath, but decided this was simply a revenge fantasy come to life. Nothing too malicious, and even were it to be so violent and rageful, at least Obediah deserved it.

Then, Maria. When Tony looks at her, now, all he can see is the pale corpse, inky blood soaked into her pores, bruises around her neck. A seatbelt, the doctor explained. A lie, Tony knew. Her death was no accident. Except, her death was not her own. She'd been with Howard, and as things were, currently, Tony could not forsee that happening. Howard was essentially dead to her, to both of them, as he very well deserved.

This thought, this knowing and yet, not knowing, was poisonous, to him. After a while, he starts to look at Obe and see all that could've gone wrong, all that Tony might've changed simply by existing again. The memories feel less and less victorious through the lens he wears, knowing that all may not come to pass. Knowing that Pepper, Rhodey, Happy, Peter- his world- may never enter his life simply because he crashed through a bedroom door and stopped his parents from fighting. In that, he wonders, are terrible things meant to occur solely for the purpose of a happy ending? Did physical abuse on his fathers end and sexual abuse on Obe's amount to anything more than putrid men doing putrid deeds, or did it change the course of his existence?

But none of that mattered now. What was done, was done, and it was time to focus on the present. Not the future- he knows where that leads- but the now, the current, the constant. Tony swallows, sitting on the edge of the bed. Today, he has some searching to do. First on his list, is-

"Rhodey." The word sits warm and soft atop his tongue. He tests it out again and his lips quirk up, an echo of a smile. Where he would find him, and how, was far easier imagined than acted upon, but he has to find him. Although he isn't sure why Rhodey in particular is the person of interest, today, he has some idea. This man was clearly his best friend, once, and Tony could do for some comradery. Once he finds Rhodey, he is sure that all else will fall in to place.

_"Oh, my God, you crazy son of a bitch. You owe me a plane. You know that, right?"_

_Relief courses through him, a comedy of sorts drifting throughout his bloodstream._

_"Yeah, well, technically, he hit me. Now are you going to come by and see what I'm working on?"_

_"No, no, no, no, no, no, the less I know, the better."_

Tony's never really had a friend, not in this lifetime. The closest to that was once his mother, but it's safe to say that the time of companionship between the two has long passed. So to remember this feeling, so foreign, settled deep within his bones as if it is natural, makes Tony want to weep- or laugh. Some form of relief. Every part of him craves to regain it, in whatever way possible.

He stands, unsure of what he is about to do, fully aware that it could not only leave him stranded and penniless- but could result in his own death, were it to get into Obe's hands.

Outings are nearly always scheduled. To leave the house when not permitted was strictly forbidden, which, until Tony plowed into his teenaged years, he did not realize was out of the ordinary. Tony was to leave for school at 5:30 each morning, and return home no later than three. On the weekends, he was only to retreat to his room, settle in on homework, and, for the past nine years, succumb to the rapist's bidding. Now, as they entered summer, Tony would be confined to the house unless and until some emergency would occur, which almost never happened. 

The plan is to leap out of the second story window, his own. The fall is rather long, and will inevitably lead to a few broken bones, but he's willing to risk it. So much time- so much of the man he once was- is bottled up inside him, and simply cannot make due with four walls and familial hatred. 

Gently, slowly, as evening light brushes his cheeks, Tony pulls the window up until it sits, half open, setting sunlight peering in and across the floors and bedding. A deep breath, a pondering of sensibility, of logic. He does not give it time to convince him otherwise. This is what is happening, and he will deal with the consequences later. One jean-clad leg, tipping over the sil, he wobbles, unsteady, and hooks the other knee around the ledge. He sits, now, looking at fields of green interspersed with flowers, and swallows. This will not be a soft landing, but it is worth it. He knows this, and lets it free him as he falls, a moment in time, swallowed by the rush of wind against his skin, across his face, blowing dark brown curls upwards and towards the sun. One moment of freedom, serene and glorious, untainted by fear, and broken only by the cracking of bones beneath him.

The grass is dewier than expected, wet slices of green leaving white streaks of subtle friction on bare-skinned arms. The fuck he let's out on impact is silenced by pain, heard only to the birds and the insects around him. He is careful to only push himself up with his good arm, the other, crooked, held tightly to his chest. This couldve gone worse, and he can make due with a broken arm. He's experienced far worse in his short, terribly long life.

It takes a few tries to come to a full, standing position, backlit by warm sun, decorated by bloody scrapes and bruises. Tony takes one look at the house, the glorious architecture, almost as beautiful as his family home. It is a risk, to stay here, for this one, blissful moment, but he does anyway.

The sun shines on him kindly as he flips off the house and walks away.

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

The subway station is crowded, dim. Smells like urine and the heated stink of metal on metal. Tony has always wondered what it would be like, to just fall, hit that third rail, and watch the world light up around him. 

He has this recurring dream, and is sure it is only just that. A flash of white. Power in his right arm, surging through his chest. Colors, coursing through his veins, delivering him power, control. Four words, right at the tip of his tongue, yet, so far away.

_I am..._

_I am..._

He is sure that in some way, being fried on the subway tracks would resemble that. Maybe less heroic, maybe less powerful. But he does crave it, that final word, that final, unflinching cheesy one liner.

_"Is that all you've got? A cheap trick, and a cheesy one liner?"_

_"Honey, that could be the name of my autobiography."_

Tony snorts, much to his own embarrassment, but he can't help it. Whoever this asshole was that he can't get out of his head- he has to hand it to him. First life Tony was fucking hilarious.

He's so distracted by the memory that he almost misses the train, floods of travelers bustling through the few, small doors that threaten to close at any moment. Tony's small, scrawny body wiggles through the crowd, and he apologises to many nameless faces. 

Once on the train, there's no space to sit, so he settles for hanging on the pole, like a fully clothed stripper with a compound fracture in his right ulna. Tony flinches under the pressure. God, the pain is blinding. He's bleeding, too, which probably is attracting more attention than he'd care for, but there are few things he can do to avoid it. He catches sight of himself in the black mirror of the train window, and looks away as fast as possible. He looks ghastly, really, a normally pale boy drained even further of color, a seeping patch of red on his blue shirtsleeve. If someone recognizes him, he's done for, and Tony's sure that everyone is watching

In reality, no one actually gives a shit. Everyone is too distracted with their own problems, picking the lint from their blouses, combing perfect hair with gentle hands, reading the new leading article on why it is vital to join some branch of the military. To Tony, he is a spectacle. To everyone else, he is simply a spec.

Yet, something in him craves to see the disaster that he is; so often he shies away from mirrors, from water, from any reflective matter, really. He doesn't want to see what he's become. But when he looks up again, expecting to see the small, shaking teenager with a broken arm, he finds a new stranger looking back at him. A man with his face, older, with a beard and graying hair. Earnestly, he stares at Tony, a silent plea for help, for love- no... for forgiveness. When the train exits the tunnel, blue sky fills the windows, and erases the man.

The teenager is left helpless, alone, and terrified for who he will become.

And then, as the train comes a jolted stop, surrounded by beautiful summer light, a whisper in his ear sends chills down his spine, the white light watering down the world around him, power and strength as natural in his body as blood. Four words, drawn together at long last:

_I am Iron Man._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think in the comments!


	5. I Am Iron Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Rhodey meet again, and Tony begins to devise a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is a little shorter than usual, but I will be working for several days and want to update before I get hella busy. I hope you like it!

_"The truth is... I **am** Iron Man."_

Tony stands, hesitant and terrified, at the front door step. He's been tracing the adress on his hand for an hour and a half now, a constant reminder. Some hidden part of his brain has stored this minuscule memory for god knows how long, for no particular reason. Thank god it did. Still, now Stark has smeared ink all up and down his right palm, despite the pain that it causes, all the way up the elbow. As he waits, Tony tries to wipe it away, leaving patches of angry skin and blotted darkness in his wake.

There is so much he could say, so much he wants to say. This is Rhodey, his Rhodey, one of the only constants in Tony's life. Platypus. Sour patch. War Machine. But of course, this was not his Rhodey, not really; this boy would simply be a ghost of what he once was. Who the other Tony knew- this boy could be entirely different. Entire conversations are rehearsed in his head, playing out both parts- Rhodey and Tony, Rhodey and Tony- Tones. Tones. He remembers the way his voice sounded, the friendly, caring lilt to the word. God, he misses him. The things he's going to say, when he opens that door.

"What the fuck took you so long?"

Tony is taken aback. The door swings open, revealing Rhodey's built frame- maybe a bit younger than Tony, but around the same height and build. Rhodey squints in the sunlight, shielding his eyes with his hand.

"I... uh..." Tony has to compose his thoughts. Does Rhodey- "Do you remember me?"

Rhodey stands there, eyes propped as if they're just about to roll. He blinks twice, and presses his lips together. 

"I mean... from the past? Like- did we share this? Is it not just me?"

Silence.

Rhodey blinks two more times.

"Honest to God, I've got no idea what you're talking about. You got the pizza or no?" He scans Stark, the muddied and bloodied clothes. The compound fracture. "You don't look like a delivery guy. And if you are... you need to do something about..." he gestures to Tony's whole body. "That."

Tony doesn't even care. This is his Rhodey. His Rhodey. He can't help it.

Of course, this boy, James, is not expecting the over-tight embrace, the running hug, the strange boy's head buried in his neck, and while his first instinct is to pull away, something in him tells him to let it be, at least until the moment passes. Maybe he's a homeless guy- but he clearly needs something.

When Tony pulls away he has tears in his eyes, and he wipes them away embarrasedly. "I'm sorry," he admits, wiping tears from his hand on to his jeans. "I don't normally... um, do that."

Rhodey stands with his arms folded, and nods, slowly. "I really don't care."

Tony laughs, which is another thing Rhodey isn't entirely expecting. This guy is all over the place, all weepy and smelling like shit. He shouldn't feel any connection to him, really, but this poor kid tugs on his heart.

"So you don't remember me?"

"Nope."

"Yeah, I, well, I expected that. I don't really know, like, what I'm doing here? I should probably go."

And he turns, because he doesn't want to give Rhodey a chance to dissapoint him. Everyone else has, given a second look and a different perspective. These other people- Rhodey, Pepper, Happy, Peter- are all he has. And in the illusion, they are perfect, they are untouchable. Tony doesn't want that to change. But then-

"I got pizza. Should be here in a minute or two. Dumbass driver got lost. You can stay if you want."

□□□

"So let me get this straight," says Rhodey, around a mouthful of pizza. He swallows and continues. "You're from the future."

"No."

"You're from the past."

"No."

"You time traveled."

"No."

"Fell through a wormhole."

"Once, yeah."

"Flew around in a tinfoil suit."

"Titanium alloy."

"And _then_ time traveled."

Tony sighs and leans against the legs of the couch, poking at the grease settled in pepperoni potholes. "You are terrible at this."

Rhodey wipes his hands on his pants and laughs. "Naw, you're just insane. But okay, okay. So you lived through all," he gestures to the world around them, "all this before. And now you're doing it again."

Tony gives up on trying to eat and sinks against the couch, hugging his knees. "Sort of. Like, I have these memories of my old life. I had a kid, you know? A wife. And, uh..." he trails off. "You."

Rhodey doesn't seem too shocked, as if he is perpetually high, yet completely sober. He shrugs, non-chalant. "Me, huh? We meet like this in your old life? With your nasty-ass broken arm hanging at your side like a twig?"

Tony smiles, recalling their introduction. "No. We go to MIT together."

Rhodey laughs midway through a bite of pizza. "Bullshit."

"Not bullshit."

"In this world of hours, I get into MIT?" He looks genuinely suprised.

"Why are you so suprised? You're one of the most intelligent, hardworking people I know, Rhodey."

Rhodey pauses, brows furrowing. "Rhodey?"

And for a moment, Tony falters, terrifies he's made some grand mistake. Of course, he knows he hasn't- this is obviously Rhodey. This is the same boy he knew and loved, and- it's him. It takes Tony a minute to understand.

"I call you Rhodey. I called you Rhodey."

"Oh," says Rhodey, mouthing the name a few times. "I mean, it makes sense. What do I call you, then?"

"Tones. Tony." Tony extends a slightly greasy hand, and waits for Rhodey to take it. Rhodey smears grease residue once again on his pants and takes his hand, shaking it slowly. "Stark," he reluctantly finishes.

Rhodey's eyes go wide. "Stark, like, Stark Stark?"

Tony deflates a bit, hating his worth to be equated to a name he wishes he could disassociate with. "Yep." He looks up, hoping that not too much has changed. And it hasn't. Rhodey nods, shrugs, then goes for another slice of pizza, and the old friends sit in silence as they eat. Tony can't help but smile at him sideways, some semblance of old times sinking in to him, a worn place in a familiar spot. For now, everything feels okay.

Of course, something has to fuck that up. And this time, it's Tony himself. 

"Rhodey," he says, calm seeping in to his skin. "I need to get my old life back." He swallows, running a hand over his upper lip, thinking. "But also, I think I may have... saved the world. And now that I'm back, right where I started- I think I have to save it again."

Because the memory is so vivid now- the start and the end and a sum of parts in the middle; the flashes of light and the surge of power, and the overwhelming sense of strength and weakness all at once. The same words, a different connotation, now. Coming from a different part of him, a place deeper than before. 

_"And I, am **Iron Man**."_

And though Tony didn't quite remember what lead him to that moment, that deepest place of love he'd found in those last few moments, surrounded by the world, his world, knowing all was safe and calm and good, could never be lost forever. Maybe it would take work, maybe it would take pain, and tears, and loss, again and again and again, somewhere on the other side, that love remains, waiting for Tony Stark, just one blinding light away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What'd you think?? Also- I know on some past chapters theres a second set of end notes, which was only meant for the first chapter 😂 so if you notice that and you're like you said that last time, I know- I have NO IDEA how to take it away lol. But let me know how you feel down in the comments!!


	6. Median Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have some updates for yall!

Hey yall! I never do stuff like this- I usually like to keep these tidy, as professional as possible. But after receiving a comment from ChrissyGLikesBooks, I realised that keeping this all to me was selfish- as I have been a reader left waiting before. We all have. But never fear!

I will be returning with more of this fic very very soon.

Just to clear up some stuff:

I'm not dead! I've been going through a lot of health problems though. Seizures, let me tell you, are a bitch.

I'm in college! And scheduled are fucked, man. Don't get me wrong, I love school- I now go to film school in DTLA, where I have in my time already seen the filmings of three different hit tv shows I often watch at home with my family.

Tonight, I met Cameron Monaghan and Noel Fischer from Shameless. They are sweetie pies btw. And hella cute. I went to a Little Late with Lily Singh. She's amazing and adorable and funny and I had a blast.

But as good as certain things have been, I've certainly had my struggles as of late with money, making rent on time, paying bills, being able to eat cause I'm so sick. Certain meds I have to take make me forgetful so I forget meals and even my depression meds, which, as you can imagine, is not so great.

Life, as it almost always is, has been a mix of wonder, confusion, horror, delight, and all that jazz. But I'm working on it. My transition into adulthood has been far from graceful, but what better a time to clumsily stumble into a new phase of growth- a time when it is okay to make mistakes, reevaluate, and get up again. As I continue to grow...

Expect more from this story soon- and a time jump.

<3 All the love

Honor


	7. To Do it All Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony wonders what could've been while facing what is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM BACK! And exhausted. Hope you like it! I've missed this!!!

**Five Years Later**

Lungs expand, pressing his ribs against his skin. Every now and then, there will be an aching in his chest, shards of phantom shrapnel impaled in the walls of his flesh. The recollection of warmth in the center, or light, a soft blue. All at once, a vacuum sealed world sucks out all the air, all the pain, and with it, all the pleasant memories. The light goes out, and the earth around him shudders. The living should not know of what death brings, but this is Tony’s curse. There is no escaping the constant reminder: all is gone, and yet, all is new.

He wakes with a shivering, a passing cold drifting across his skin and producing gooseflesh. Tony curls deeper into the soft blanket, dark curls splayed out against his pillow like a halo. His back is warm, and the spot in bed behind him is painfully empty. He can almost sense the indent, the fading warmth that has been etched into the fabric of the mattress, in the silk of the sheets. He longs for the recurrence, the pressure of their forearms on his abdomen, their body perfectly matched to his. Tony swallows and turns, rests his head against their pillow.

Tony’s being a baby, of course. After all, Rhodey’s just in the shower.

He couldn’t wait forever. There was a disturbance he couldn’t allow, a change from Pepper’s normal, daily life. At least for the time being. Of course, there was no recreation of the past- it simply wasn’t feasible as he once saw it. The future- this future, his recent past- had to be crafted anew. But there were certain things he could keep, players on the board all the same. Landmarks in time that the universe required, a map of realities Tony did not have the power to change. Pepper, at this point and time, was living a peaceful life with her family. Tony couldn’t disrupt that, regardless of ability to- Pepper had things to do, people to date, mistakes to make. If Tony decided too early to jump in to her life, the consequences could mean losing it all, the end and the beginning and all that remains in the middle. Losing Peter, losing Morgan, losing Happy- if he lost Pepper, he would lose all of it. Tony’s need for comfort and love as he knew it in the past wasn’t enough to risk changing Pepper’s life for the worst, and damaging destiny for all of humanity.

So, this is where they are.

They’ve been together for three years, now. It isn’t what it was, but it is enough.

Tony closes his eyes and lets himself fall back asleep.

□□□

_ "When did you realise what was happening?" Asked Tony, taking a bite of his waffle. The silverware clinked against ceramic. He bit the inner slice of his cheek and watched for something in her eyes to shift, to change. _

_ "I think…" she said, knuckles against her kneck and chin, scratching absent mindedly at her jaw. "I think you were seven." There was a solidity to the answer, a weight for which there was no name.  _

_ Tony swallowed. "Seven." _

_ Maria nodded. "I took you to the doctor, and they had you take your clothes off. There were bruises on your hips and thighs and," she turned her nose up, articulating the disgust she had for the situation, "and there were bite marks on your chest." _

_ Tony rubbed small circles in his pectoral and clenched his jaw. He was pretty sure there was still a scar there- once, Obe bit down so hard into his skin that the wound eventually got infected (The fucker didn't care much for dental hygiene.) He remembered, then, the tiny stitches he made in his own skin with red sewing thread, the curve of the needle. How the skin swelled against the thread, how he'd had to chop through the fabric and start the process all over again.  _

_ God, he would slit Obe's throat if he had it to do all over again- but no, that was a messy game to play, and he knew the rules by heart. _

_ "And you did nothing. You said nothing. Why." _

_ Maria's face scrunched up, puzzled. She looked old, now, or at least, older than before.  _

_ "I saved you, you know." _

_ Certainly not what he'd been expecting. Tony almost shuddered, a chill passing through him. The absolute nerve- _

_ "I did that because I wouldn't watch Howard hurt you. I couldn't. So I relinquished what we had, Tony. I gave up that life. I'd protected you for years from that man." _

_ She leg a breath out through her nostrolils. _

_ "But it was like- like it was drawn to you. The violence. And I couldn't give it up again, Tony. I saved you once. I couldn't do it again." _

_ Tony rose and slammed his fists on the table, so loud that guests in the diner turned. _

_ "Bullshit. That's what it is to be a parent. You make sacrifices. You give up every part of yourself to protect them, even if that means your life. Because you should love them enough to do that. To give your life just so your kids can get up and go on and live another day." _

_ "And what would you know of being a parent?" Mocked Maria, peering at him over the rim of her glasses. _

_ A ripple of grief rose in Tony's throat. _

_ Peter. Morgan. Harley. Nebula. _

_ "Apparently more than you." _

□□□

It was a mistake to try and make amends. Maybe that's why he's so down today- the knowledge that not all things can be fixed can be tragic for some, but especially so for someone who's goal in life is to solve every problem in his path. 

Tony's been thinking about his kids a lot lately. His friends, too. He's left the timeline, his timeline, and he often wonders if it all still exists. The universe he gave his life to save- does it still linger in the cosmos? Are his people still safe now? 

The screw tightens and the metal clings to his forearm. Tech is certainly different, in 1990. But that hasn't stopped him. He's now on the Mark III. Well, he has the arms, legs, and head. No torso yet.

Tony stretches his fingers away from his palm and towards it. 

He's aiming the repulsor at the wall when a crash from the other room makes him jump.

"Rhodey?" He calls.

"You okay?"

There is a pause and groan.

"Yeah, I'm good."

Tony's lips tick upwards. 

"You wearing the boots again?"

"No."

"Walk in here normally, then."

Tony waits, and after a full minute passes, Rhodey floats in to the doorway, using the legs of the Iron Man suit to hover about a foot off the floor.

"I don't know how to get them off."

Tony laughs. "At least they look good on you. But wear yours. Mark 3 is mine, you get war machine."

"Iron Patriot."

"No."

"It's cooler."

"No it's not."

Tony laughs.

"Kid, help me out here?"

Tony looks to the ceiling.

"Ground Mark 3, would you?"

_ "Sure thing, Mr. Stark." _

Rhodey falls to the floor with a thud. Once he recovers, he glances up at Tony.

" _Mr. Stark_ ," he mimicked. "You're fuckin' 20, jackass."

Tony points his index finger. "You promised not to make fun of it."

Rhodey shrugs. "Okay Mr. Stark."

"Need anything else, sir?"

The boy's voice is warm, buoyant. How deeply he misses that tambor. Tony sucks in a breath, and there's so much he wishes he could ask for- to see him again, to comfort him again, to lead him again…

But it all comes with time. Tony swallows the sudden rush of hot tears at the back of his throat.

"I'm all good, Peter. Thanks bud."

Then- he remembers. 

"Actually, you know what, Pete? Where are we at with ah- with the winter warrior guy?"

"The Winter Soldier?"

Memory refreshes.

"That's the one."

"He'll be in town within the week. Sheild has been tracking him. Would you like me to send you his most recent location?"

Tony clenches his fist, admires the shining red metal.

"Sure. Just a few things me and Barnes need to talk about."

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE TELL ME YOUR THOUGHTS!

**Author's Note:**

> More will be coming soon! There will be better chapters to come, I promise. I hope you don't hate it entirely!


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